


ever clear

by kokiri



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokiri/pseuds/kokiri
Summary: the kind of love you see in the movies. only worse.(only better.)





	ever clear

**Author's Note:**

> LMFAO HI!!! sorry i love these two. i was going to make a playlist for this but i've lost the motivation. just listen to a lot of duran duran, because that's what i was listening to while writing this. kudos and comments are, as always, so very appreciated. i think the tags sum it up pretty well but a warning for trainwreck levels of generally irresponsible behavior (but with self awareness!! :)) !!) and Implied Like Super Implied Sexual Content but nothing explicit. and that's all!! thank you!!!!!
> 
> a general disclaimer: the relationship depicted in this fanfiction is not done with the intention of being the perfect image of a fully functional relationship. this is a fanfiction about two people who are taking steps out of order, skipping over the important parts of connecting with another person, and not approaching their romantic and sexual connection in the proper way. but there is also hope and a desire to make things right, because humans are capable of change and rectifying past mistakes. that is what is meant to be conveyed here. 
> 
> with all that being said, here goes.

“Hey, Hongseok, quick question. What the fuck are you doing?”

Hongseok feels like Hyojong’s current level of incredulity is inappropriate, all things considered. “I’m eating a bagel and listening to a TED Talk, which should be extremely obvious by the fact that there is a bagel in my hand and a boring guy talking about renewable energy on my phone.”

“When did you get… so old,” Hyojong says, tilting his head. Hongseok notices that he is wearing his one, singular nice shirt tonight. The pieces start falling together. Hyojong wants Hongseok to go somewhere with him.

“I’m not old. Clearly, I have reached a point in my life where I am content to stay home and be boring on my couch in peace, and that is fine. Where are you going anyway?”

Hyojong’s eyes light up, which means this is a Hwitaek thing. “Hyuna’s throwing a party and invited Hwitaek. She does that sometimes, to get us in the same place at the same time when we’re on the outs. Which we currently are. Because he’s all, ‘Uuuuu my career!’”

“Sorry, but did none of you read _The Great Gatsby_ in high school?” Hongseok asks. He’s got a lecture stashed away somewhere about this.

“The one about the soldiers?”

Hongseok takes a pensive bite of his bagel.

“Anyway, come on, Hongseok! The semester’s over, we should be having fun! TED Talks aren’t fun, they’re scary because I have no idea what anyone is talking about, ever. Just come with me for a few hours. And we can leave whenever you want,” Hyojong pleads. He falls to his knees and grabs Hongseok’s hand. “My best friend. The love of my life.”

Hyojong makes a pretty compelling argument in the sense that Hongseok just doesn’t have the energy to listen to this kind of whining for another second. It probably wouldn’t hurt – Hongseok has mostly written off, to a reasonable degree, the irresponsible social life of a borderline alcoholic, party hopping college student he had been cultivating for the last couple of years. Your supervisor asking you point blank if you really have the fucking audacity to show up to work hungover will do that to you. But socializing doesn’t mean getting trashed, right? Right.

So, fine. He’ll go. But under one condition.

“What is it,” Hyojong asks, wary. “It’s something stupid.”

“I get the aux cord on the way there so I can finish my TED Talk.”

 

 

 

 

“Just _one_ shot,” Hyuna pleads, and for fuck’s sake, why are all of Hongseok’s friends so needy? When did they all become a never-ending episode of _Skins_?

He’s already lost track of Hyojong, which doesn’t come as the biggest surprise, since Hyojong is currently operating under Hwitaek Vision and is impossible to deter under such circumstances. Hyuna, already buzzed, is holding a bottle of Absolut directly against Hongseok’s face.

“P-l-e-a-s-e,” she says. “I l-o-v-e y-o-u, H-o-n-g-s-e-o-k,” she adds, talking super, _super_ slow because Hongseok is clearly the one with the impaired cognitive functioning right now and needs the extra help.

“If you’ll leave me alone after,” Hongseok says, “I’ll do one. _One_.”

He, of course, does not just do one. What happens is that after he does one, he is goaded into doing another, and then all of his friends tell him how cool it is that he’s back on the scene, which feels pretty damn good, so he does yet another. There’s three. After that, it’s all a chaotic blur. He is probably responsible for the destruction of the television in the living room (if his foot going directly through the screen counts as incriminating evidence, who knows, he’s not a lawyer!) and he may have made out with a stranger, but still! Everyone’s all, “Hongseok! Hey, Hongseok! We’re so happy to see you! We all thought you were _dead_!” and that just motivates him to take another shot or two.

“Hyuna, I’m going to puke all over the fucking place,” he says, beginning to take note of the fact that he has made countless mistakes in the last hour or so of his life, and everyone just cheers like they’re some kind of canned laughter audience on an old sitcom.  

“You’re such a fucking pansy now! Go outside and get some fresh air, I swear to God, if you puke in this house I will fucking kill you,” Hyuna says, having reached her famous Angry Drunk stage.

He obliges, because he can’t die like this. After throwing up in the bushes once, texting Hyojong a message that reads _I’M FUCKGN DYING PLEASE TAKE ME HOME_ , and then throwing up a second time, Hongseok thinks maybe he can shake it off and find his way back into the house where he will commence his normal party activities, such as passing out trashed on Hyuna’s bed. He takes two steps and is promptly proven extremely wrong, rolling his ankle on the curb and falling to the ground so hard he can literally hear his skin ripping against the pavement.

_UPDATE_ , he texts Hyojong, _I AM FUCKING DEAD._

Then he closes eyes.

When a soft but strong hand is clasped over his own and pulls him upward into a sitting position, he still doesn’t open his eyes, so certain is he that Hyojong has come to his rescue. After all, he has lost all concept of time and has no idea only thirty seconds have passed between texting Hyojong and now.

“Thanks a fucking lot,” he says.

“Well, you’re welcome!” replies a voice that is not the familiar squirrely lilt of Hyojong. Fuck.

Hongseok’s eyes shoot open. There is a boy crouched down in front of him, hands occupied by holding both Hongseok and a red solo cup of what looks like watered down lemonade steady.

“What the fuck are you drinking,” Hongseok demands.

“Uh, Everclear… some water, and one of those cheap lemonade flavor packets,” the boy replies.

“I think I love you,” Hongseok says, and then he vomits again.

 

 

 

 

When Hongseok’s internal drunken timeline finally catches up with the real world, he is sitting in a brightly lit bathroom. Stark white walls, cute pink accents everywhere. There is something cold on his arm. He looks down. It’s hydrogen peroxide being applied delicately to his scraped skin with a cotton ball.

“You’re such an idiot,” Hyojong says, but he isn’t the one doctoring Hongseok up. He’s lying down in the bath tub, tapping away on his phone.

“I don’t care. What’s your name?” Hongseok asks the mystery boy, Everclear and water and cheap lemonade packets.

“Changgu,” he replies, smiling like he knows something Hongseok doesn’t. “You’ve already asked me five times,” he adds.

Oh. Hongseok can kind of remember now. They were walking together, the grass was slick, and Changgu was helping Hongseok keep his balance. Hyojong spotted them from the front porch. And to answer Hongseok’s most incessant question, Changgu politely said, “It’s Changgu” four times in a row.

And then Hongseok decided to sing a song. “ _Said Changgu, you’re the poet in my heart… Never change, never stop_ …” which Changgu thought was so adorable he couldn’t stand it. Hyojong reminded him that he was bleeding everywhere, they found a bathroom, and now here they are.

“Thank you for being… absurdly beautiful,” Hongseok slurs, like the embarrassment to humanity he currently is.

“Mmmhmm. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I’m gonna barf,” Hyojong chimes in.

Changgu laughs, a good-natured kind of laugh. The kind of laugh you want to get wrapped up inside forever. Warm. Home. “Is this your roommate?” he asks Hyojong over his shoulder.

“Unfortunately, yes. And best friend. Possibly my soulmate.”

“He’s cute.”

Hongseok’s stomach flip-flops in waves of nausea, either because his stupid drunken body didn’t get enough of throwing up earlier or because Most Holy and Venerated Savior of Drunken Idiots Named Hongseok is cleaning up his battle scars and calling him cute. Probably a bit of both. He holds it back, because he suddenly cares about maintaining his dignity.

“Hyuna keeps a first aid kit under the sink,” Hyojong says, finally having it in him to be a little helpful. Changgu retrieves the poorly-stocked kit and gently applies bandages to Hongseok’s arm and one just below his eye. 

“There you go. Good as new.” 

Hongseok reaches an uncoordinated hand up to the bandage on his face. “Thanks. For. Giving. A shit. About me,” he says slowly. Like he has no idea how human interaction works anymore. 

“Any. Time. Hongseok,” Changgu replies, grinning. 

(“Ewwwwww,” Hyojong whines.)

 

 

 

 

Hongseok wakes up to the feeling of a pain that is both dull and searing shooting through his entire head. He turns slightly to the left, where Hyojong is poking directly on to the wound Hongseok sustained under his eye after eating shit at the party.

“What, dumbass, I’m hungover.”

“Oh. Widdle baby Hongseok thinks he’s the only person who gets hungover after drinking alcohol.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Noooo,” Hyojong cries dramatically, crawling into Hongseok’s bed and wrapping him up in an unwanted hug.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Hongseok comments, resting his head against Hyojong’s shoulder (just because there isn’t anyplace else for him to rest his head) (okay) (!). 

“I guess so.”

“So I take it you had the big, romantic reunion with Hwitaek you were hoping for.” 

“Kind of. He’s just driving me nuts. Can’t commit. Doesn’t understand that there’s no point in wasting time when it’s already ordained by fate.”

“Oh?”

“Like, I had a prophetic dream. And I spoke to God about it, and She told me it’ll work out no matter what.”

“Well, forgive the rest of us for not being able to live by your crystal visions, Hyojong. Hwitaek’s gonna need some time to catch up with such enlightenment.” 

“True, but I feel like I’ve given him enough time to understand that I already know our entire future. Anyway, Changgu was asking me about you after you passed out in the back of my car.” 

Changgu... Changgu...?

Holy shit. Changgu.

“Oh,” Hongseok says. He remembers. He remembers so much that it’s thoroughly fucking embarrassing and he wants to die over it. If Changgu doesn’t think Hongseok is an absolute jackass after all that then maybe there is a kind and benevolent deity up above after all. 

“I gave him your number. Then I used your finger to unlock your phone and gave you his number.”

“Thank you for that, but it’s really no good,” Hongseok says, dejected. He’s played this game before, it’s exhausting, and he’s not about to do it again. “It never works with guys that I meet at parties.”

“Parties are... a really common place to meet potential romantic and sexual partners,” Hyojong says, a bit confused. “I do not understand.” 

“I don’t know. It’s like when I try to make it work with someone I met at a party... we can never escape the weird party unhingement phase. It’s just... manic, and unstable, and bad. Like Shinwon. Broke my ugly heart and lit my curtains on fire. I don’t have the energy to do that anymore. Relationships can’t succeed like that. It isn’t real. A flurry of shitty romantic gestures, some tears and then... happily ever after.” 

“Like the movies,” Hyojong sighs. A true romantic at heart. 

“Yeah. The kind of love you see in the movies. Only worse. But somehow still unattainable.” 

“But... come on Hongseok, that’s not fair. Changgu’s nice. And cute. And kind of normal. And you’ve been single for, like, two hundred years now, it’s starting to gross me out. I’m starting to think you’re in love with me.”

Hongseok squirms out of Hyojong’s loving embrace. “You make me sick!” he laughs. It hurts all over to even smile, let alone laugh, but that’s the price one must pay for an evening of bullshit disguised as fun. 

“I’m just being honest. But seriously. Text Changgu. Please.” Hyojong places a big, sloppy kiss against the bandage under Hongseok’s eye. “I love you. Now don’t bother me for the rest of the day. I’m attempting to make contact with the other side,” he says, rolling out of Hongseok’s bed and leaving him alone in the quiet of his room. The only sound keeping him company is his standing fan and the familiar, joyful cries of the children who play just outside his bedroom window. He fumbles around in his sheets for his phone. 

**TO** : Hongseok  
**FROM** : Changgu  
hey!

**TO** : Hongseok  
**FROM** : Changgu  
i hope it’s okay i got your number from hyojong

**TO** : Hongseok  
**FROM** : Changgu  
just wanted to check in on you

He’s a triple texter. Interesting. Okay, fine, Hongseok will bite.

**TO** : Changgu  
**FROM** : Hongseok  
Yeah it’s fine! Haha sorry about last night. And thanks for everything.

Three little dots appear. What happens now? Should Hongseok just go die because he can already see where this is going? He waits.

**TO** : Hongseok  
**FROM** : Changgu  
dont apologize please, you were the least troublesome lush i’ve ever taken care of. are you feeling okay today?

**TO** : Changgu  
**FROM** : Hongseok  
Surprisingly I’m feeling pretty okay, all things considered. Thanks for checking in. 

Hmm. 

**TO** : Changgu  
**FROM** : Hongseok  
Are you busy today?

**TO** : Hongseok  
**FROM** : Changgu  
nope! i just got off work and im doing nothing that matters!!

**TO** : Changgu  
**FROM** : Hongseok  
Cool, me either. Do you want to maybe... go get lunch? 

 

 

 

 

If Hongseok is being honest, he feels like he is back in his element a little bit. Hungover in a Denny’s that’s located square in the heart of the shitty side of town (though that is mostly because the shitty side of town just happens to be where he currently lives). Changgu, on the other hand, explains that he lives right there on the border of the neighborhoods that time and city planners forgot, and the nice, newly renovated cluster of subdivisions, shopping centers, and restaurants that are going to be closed within the year.

“Because my parents pay for my rent during the school year most of the time to get out of actual human affection,” he says. “Since you’re giving me a look like you want to know.”

“Oh. My parents paid my rent once during tax season, but otherwise, can’t relate,” Hongseok says. Not exactly the kind of personal information he is accustomed to revealing in his second conversation with a brand-new person, but he finds himself compelled to overshare anyway. Cut through the public persona bullshit and all that. “So. Tell me more about these parents who don’t love you.”

“Oh,” Changgu laughs. “Okay, sure! I like it. Let’s just get to the nitty-gritty. They just don’t care for me at all as a person. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve taken care of me well my entire life. Kept me fed, kept me clothed, and all that. But there was never any personal relationship. It’s no big deal, though.”

“Kind of sounds like a big deal to me.”

“Do you have a good relationship with your parents?”

“A decent one,” Hongseok says, thinking about it for a moment. “They tried so hard to protect and provide that they kind of forgot to be there for a lot of stuff. But I don’t hold it against them. I could never. My brother has a great relationship with them. But me—I don’t know. I just always felt like the accidental addition to their lives that made everything that much harder. Not to get miserable or anything.”

Changgu shakes his head, unfazed. “It isn’t miserable. It’s just life.” He runs his finger along the condensation that has formed over his glass of iced tea, doesn’t really seem to be consciously aware of the fact that he is doing this.

There’s this sick kind of feeling in Hongseok’s stomach, just looking at him like this. Under the washed out lighting of the shittiest Denny’s in town. Dark circles under his eyes. He catches Hongseok staring at him.

“What?” he asks, laughing.

“I don’t know. I guess I just like looking at you.” Decidedly a stupid thing to say when you’re Hongseok and you are actively trying to avoid spiraling into some half-baked fling with a guy who has already seen you at your worst and most pathetic.

If Changgu is embarrassed or even remotely flattered by this, he does an excellent job at hiding it.

“Isn’t it weird,” he says, “that we never met each other before last night? Must have just been in the right place at the right time.”

“I’ll have you know that Hyojong read my fortune a year ago and told me I would run into a life-changing presence while lying in my own puke at Hyuna’s house.”

Changgu laughs at this, reaches out grabs Hongseok’s hand. “I’m glad,” he says. “That we met. Not necessarily that you were super fucked up last night.”

Hongseok is glad, too. He might be able to say as much if he can stop stammering and stumbling over his words, but he’s finding that rather impossible under these circumstances.

 

 

 

 

Hongseok figures that he shouldn’t act like it comes as any type of surprise that the two of them eventually end up back at his apartment— furthermore, in his bed.  

“I was trying to avoid this, actually,” he says, tracing a finger over Changgu’s jawline. They’ve wasted away the remainder of the day like this.

“Yeah, this isn’t really my thing nowadays. It’s weird. Last night was sort of supposed to be… me seeing myself off from all the dumb shit my friends wrangle me in to doing. I figured it was just going to be another unceremonious party at Hyuna’s house. Then I saw you.”

Hongseok can’t help but laugh at the notion that he could leave such a fond impression on someone in the sorry state he had been in the previous night. “Last night was basically the first time I’ve left the house to do anything remotely social in the last year,” he says.

“I can see why.”

“Asshole,” Hongseok says, reaching over and messing with Changgu’s hair. It’s too deceptive, how good he is currently feeling. He’s smart enough to know that he needs to be careful, but not quite smart enough to really care. He thinks about his parents briefly—the story goes that they met when they were nineteen, got married six months later, and never regretted it once. It’s absurd and always seemed to Hongseok like his parents just took a shot and got really fucking lucky. Yet it’s still hard not to grasp at straws like that when he glances over and sees Changgu’s face. Against all these improbable odds, Hongseok met the love of his life at some stupid house party, drunk, and completely out of his mind. It’s a fleeting thought, nothing with the capacity to really stand up against logic and simply knowing better.

“Hey,” Changgu says. “That song you were singing last night. What was it?”

“Oh,” Hongseok says, memories of his belligerent foolishness flooding back to him. “I actually don’t really know. It’s some old song my mom always used to sing to me while she was cooking dinner. But she would use my name. _They say it doesn’t matter anymore… If you build your house, then please, call me home_.”

Changgu reaches out and brushes his fingertips over the bandage under Hongseok’s eye. “If you build your house, then please, call me home. What a nice thought,” he says, sounding almost like he’s stuck in between talking to himself and talking to Hongseok. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Sure,” Hongseok says. “You like me that much?” he teases.

“Shut up. You’re just… comfortable.”

Comfortable. That’s an apt description for the way Hongseok is feeling. Realizing that it’s been far too long since he acknowledged the outside world, he grabs his phone and checks the time.

They’re far into the evening now, no intention to leave the bed for anything in the world.

 

 

 

 

In two weeks’ time, they are making it a point to see each other every day.

Hongseok is anxiously observing his reflection in the mirror that hangs by the front door of the apartment, mostly just trying to remind himself that he exists and has inherent value and it’s cool that someone actually, like, wants to see him. But with the two of them actively _not_ using words like _dates_ or _boyfriends_ or _feelings_ , he really has no idea how to regard this arrangement at all.

“I gotta be honest,” Hyojong says, “I’m pretty torn on how I feel here. On one hand, I love seeing you leave the house. And even though the thought is viscerally disgusting to me, I know it’s good for your mental health that you’re getting laid. But on the other hand, and this is coming from someone who is famously bad at maintaining normal relationships, I’m… not sure this is a normal relationship.”

“That’s what’s getting me about it, Hyojong. I don’t think it is either,” Hongseok says, finally tearing himself away from the horrible creature in the mirror.

“But, all of that being said… that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. If you’re just looking for something casual, which is fine, then I don’t see any problem. You’re just seeing each other… a lot… And it’s making you act all weird. Happy, but weird. And you’re drinking again, which you had decided you didn’t want to do anymore. I notice these things about you.”

“Then maybe that’s what this is. Maybe it’s just casual. How about we go with that? And drinking is fine, everyone drinks! Damn!”

“The thing is, though, you need to kind of be… fully aware of this being a casual thing. And both of you need to be clear about it. Because otherwise, it’s going to lead to trouble. And I don’t care about your feelings and don’t want to hear you crying over this. I swear to God.”

Something casual. No strings attached. Just a bit of fun. Cool for the summer. If it blows up in their faces, it won’t matter. That’s what Hongseok is trying to tell himself. Anything is better than trying to untangle the knots they’ve managed to twist up between each other at such an aggressive pace. That would just require too much effort.

“Don’t worry about it,” is all Hongseok can really manage to say. Hyojong gives him a _look_.

“I have to worry about it,” he says.

“Well… I’m telling you not to. I’ll see you later.”

Hyojong opens his mouth like he wants to say something more, but he retreats. “Yeah,” he says, a bit solemn. “Have fun, I guess.”

 

 

 

 

Hongseok only has a glimpse of Changgu’s face under the light creeping in through the curtains, moving a little each time his fan oscillates around. He can see his eyes, then his nose, then his mouth, but never quite all at once. 

“So, it probably goes without saying that my parents never hugged me when I was a child, in case you were wanting to know what level of _emotionally closed off from intimate relationships with others_ you are currently up against.”

“Ah,” Hongseok says. “So… now you’ve shared your most traumatizing childhood horror with me. I guess maybe I should share mine… but it’s really stupid.”

“No way. There are thousands of ways to fuck up a kid. I doubt it’s stupid.”

“Okay. Fine. I used to have to take my lunch to school in brown paper bags. Which was somehow the most mortally fucking humiliating thing ever, since all my friends got lunches from school. My parents couldn’t afford it, though, and my dad was too paranoid to let the school have his financial information to qualify me for free lunch. So, my mom sent me to school every day with a spam sandwich and an apple. I hated it. It was so embarrassing.”

“Oh...” Changgu says, and it’s so fucking tender, so full of unwarranted empathy and understanding it almost makes Hongseok want to scream for reasons unknown. “Being a kid is so hard.”

“It really fucking is. It was even worse towards the middle and end of the month. They call it ‘food insecurity’ nowadays. Makes me do weird things as an adult. Like intentionally go without eating. As punishment for making a mistake. Or practice for when I inevitably starve to death one day. Because, as a result of my childhood, that’s now my biggest fear.” 

It’s probably ill-timed by normal people standards, but they aren’t normal people. Changgu props himself up just enough to give Hongseok a kiss - the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

“No pressure to, like, fix each other’s baggage, though? Right?” Hongseok asks.

The curtains move just a bit as the fan oscillates in the direction of the bed. Hongseok sees Changgu’s eyes, and nose, and mouth, and now the slightest glimpse of his collarbone. 

“Of course not. I go to therapy for that. It’s just nice to know, isn’t it?” Changgu’s smiling a little, Hongseok can hear it in his voice. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh. I don’t do therapy. I’m painfully aware of everything that’s wrong with me and I don’t think any of it can be fixed by way of talking or medication.”

“God,” Changgu says, exasperated, with a hint of laughter in there somewhere. He falls back down on his back and throws his arms out, hitting Hongseok right in the face. “You think you’re just... the smartest person alive, don’t you?” 

“I actually have it on good authority that I’m a moron, but I do think I’m smarter than any mental health care professional out there,” Hongseok says. He fails to mention that he gets this from his father, because he doesn’t want to add any more emotional baggage into the mix.  

“You’d be surprised. Some people out there really want to help. And some people out there really want to see you live your best life. Especially one particular person. Named Changgu.” 

“Well. I’m so terribly sorry to Changgu, but he’s going to have to be okay with me living my mediocre at best life, if that’s okay.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s fine with that, so long as he gets to be a part of it. It’s a little presumptuous, but he feels like he’s a pretty good fit.”

Were the lights on, Changgu would see Hongseok’s eyes widen to an almost comical state. “I… agree,” he says dumbly.

He wants to urge the conversation forward. See if they are that much closer to setting some much needed parameters. Make sure that they are not attempting to build a house without any real foundation beneath.

A build your house and call me home kind of love, that’s what Hongseok wants to go for. One that acknowledges the effort and energy necessary to make it work. The words never manage to make there way out of his mouth. He cups his hand around the back of Changgu’s neck and kisses him. The kind of kiss that begs for more.

 

 

 

 

Hongseok isn’t sure when the days started blending together. When days and weeks started passing him by without his knowledge. He remembers things in fragments.

Mondays are hotboxing Hyojong’s car, laughing at stupid bullshit like they’re kids in high school and making out until Hyojong slams his hand on the window and says it is time to go home. 

Tuesdays are stumbling to Changgu’s apartment after pouring tequila from their own flask into overpriced drinks at some chain restaurant Hongseok can’t even remember now.

Wednesdays are getting kicked out of Hongseok’s favorite bar, throwing a punch at some guy who is looking at them funny. And then another, and then another, until Hongseok is swiftly picked up by someone much larger than him and literally thrown out. Changgu follows, slowly, kneeling down and cupping Hongseok’s face in his hands. And he is smiling. 

Thursdays are a cheap matinee in the afternoon, no one in the audience but them. Changgu straddles Hongseok in the darkest corner of the theatre, presses his hands against the span of Hongseok’s chest while the movie plays on, completely ignored, behind him. 

Fridays are jackets off in the back of the cab they take from the bar to Hongseok’s apartment. Shirts off at the front door. Pants off as they cross into Hongseok’s bedroom. 

Saturdays are the split seconds of silence after, _You’re going to wake Hyojong up_ and, _You’re going to wake the neighbors up_ , and, _You’re going to wake the entire goddamn building up._

Just a string of moments with no discernible beginning or end. A haze of bad decisions, falling asleep together, waking up and doing it all over again.

 

 

 

 

This particular Sunday is waking up somewhere vaguely unfamiliar. Under natural lighting. To the slight smell of garbage and freshly cut grass. They are outside.

“Holy shit,” Hongseok groans, his eyes fluttering open. “What the fuck?”

Changgu soon follows suit. “Oh my God,” he mutters under his breath. “Are we... Hongseok, are we at the park? Did we pass out in the fucking park?” It’s a level of panic Hongseok has yet to hear in Changgu’s voice before this very moment.

“It seems like it.” Hongseok hears the creek bubbling somewhere close, the one that runs right along where the park hits the walking trail that’s just out of eyeshot for most visitors unless they’re really looking. Meaning, at least they aren’t under one of the new gazebos, or any playground equipment, or in the very popular picnic area. At least their deviancy and irresponsibility are currently known only to themselves. He pats his pockets down. “Guess my wallet’s gone.”

“Oh God,” Changgu whispers, the pitch of his voice elevated with stress, cracking slightly at the end. “This isn’t good. I work... so unbelievably hard to actively not pull stunts like this.”

Hongseok wants to say that it’s no big deal, but deep down, he knows that it is. This isn’t normal. The last couple of months have been anything but normal. So he says nothing at all. 

“Because once I start, I won’t stop,” Changgu continues, and seems to be talking mostly to himself. “I’m gonna... walk home.” 

“Let me walk with you,” Hongseok offers.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you... later. Bye, Hongseok. Please get home safely.” 

Hongseok doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move beyond picking a few leaves out of the fibers of his sweater. He tries to trace back through his shoddy memories from the previous night. Hyuna had been there, and Hyojong... They were... robo-tripping? In the park. At midnight. Like a bunch of absolute dumbasses. It seemed like fun at the time, something Hyuna, Hyojong, and Hongseok had gotten a kick from a few of times back in high school, though Hongseok always reacted so badly by the time it was over that he ended up killing the good time, rather famously so within their friend group. 

His wallet is nowhere to be found, but his phone is safely tucked into his front pocket. He pulls it out and calls Hyojong.

“Dude...”

“Hyojong.”

“Yeah?”

“Why did we do this?”

“I don’t know. We were bored. Where are you?”

“I’m at the park. And I think Changgu hates me now.”

“Ahhhhh.” It’s probably a sigh but it mostly just sounds like static on Hongseok’s end. “Come home, Hongseok. We’ll talk about it.” 

 

 

 

 

“We were just walking around town. And Hyuna thought it would be fun. You know she’s being quite the late bloomer with growing out of the dumb shit we used to pull as kids. Then we got separated. I just assumed you went back to Changgu’s place.”

“Well, I fucking didn’t,” Hongseok snaps, burying his head in his hands. 

Hyojong shoves a bottle of water in Hongseok’s face and sits down beside him, almost directly on top of him, on the couch. Like a human weighted blanket. “So. This is what you meant,” he says. “About how it never works with guys you meet at parties.”

“This is literally exactly what I meant. Which is so stupid. What bullshit self-fulfilling prophecy garbage is this? It didn’t have to be this way. Am I really just that dumb?”

“Oh, absolutely. But come on, Hongseok, it’s just some weird fling fizzling out. Like weird flings do. Right?” Hyojong pauses, waiting for an answer. “It’s not like you’re in love with him... right...” he continues, apprehension creeping into his voice. 

Hongseok just looks at him. The “don’t make me say it out loud” sort of look. 

“My God, you belligerent little fool.”

“I don’t know. I really don’t, Hyojong. What if I am?”

Hyojong gives Hongseok a rough, misguided pat on the head in lieu of a real answer.

“You’re so useless. And this is your fault,” Hongseok says, shoving Hyojong’s hand away.  He’s mostly joking. But it feels good to push the blame somewhere else for a minute. 

“I didn’t hold a gun to your head and make you fall in love with the guy who was just being decent when he patched you up at a party. I simply encouraged you... to live a little and stop being such a shut-in. And it’s especially not my fault that you two decided to get to this point in your relationship without defining boundaries or, like… talking about your feelings? That’s kind of an important part of becoming romantically entangled with another person, Hongseok. And you know that.” 

Nothing about this is untrue. The sequence of events was doomed the second Hongseok got it in his head that good or bad, it would all be over by the summer’s end, and that would be fine. That didn’t take into consideration Changgu’s habit of buying sweaters two sizes too big. The way he wraps his arms around his knees and squints his eyes at the television when he gets invested in a movie. The way he is physically incapable of leaving Target without buying a bag of caramel popcorn. And that dumb, vacant smile of his that Hongseok loves so much.  These had not been factored into the equation and were now making the fallout exceedingly difficult to handle.

“Should I try and talk to him?”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt, but don’t be weird about it? Like, don’t cry.”

“I’m not going to fucking cry,” Hongseok says. He squirms out from under Hyojong’s weight and grabs his sweater off the arm of the couch, still dirty from lying on the ground earlier. 

“Oh. In person, you mean,” Hyojong says. “Maybe not a good idea.”

“I’m not having this conversation with him over the phone,” Hongseok argues, pulling on his sweater.

“Fine. But really. Don’t be stupid. And don’t embarrass yourself. I mean it.”

Hongseok, unfortunately, can make no promises.

 

 

 

 

Digging deep down for some secret reserve of emotional resilience to get him through this ordeal, Hongseok knocks on the door of Changgu’s apartment and he waits. Another thirty seconds or so and he would have given up and gone home, but Changgu does, surprisingly, open the door just a crack. 

“Leave me alone,” he says. It’s painful, Hongseok realizes, seeing this side of him. The side that exists under the veneer of projected perfection, at the foot of the pedestal Hongseok had so stupidly thrust him upon.

“Changgu, can we please just talk? For five minutes?” Hongseok asks, sounding a little more desperate than he had intended.

“About what?” Changgu asks, opening the door a few inches more. It is here that Hongseok really gets a good look at his face. Not the face of the boy at the party; rather, the face of a pale, scrawny, sunken in copy. Hongseok figures if he took the time to analyze his own reflection, the result would be similar. 

“About... everything, about us,” Hongseok says. It’s obvious that Changgu is already on the defense, ready to deflect any words that leave Hongseok’s mouth.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I feel like... my life is spiraling out of control. And I feel like yours is, too, and the common factor here is each other. I haven’t taken my medication in a week. You know? I can’t afford to live like that. It has taken me years, and so much time and money, to get to where I am today. Hongseok, I...”

Hongseok braces himself to hear what he simultaneously dreads and craves more than anything. There’s no way it could possibly be so simple. 

“I care about you.” It isn’t so simple. “I do. So much it hurts. But please, give me time to recalibrate myself. This doesn’t have to be the end. But I need time. And so do you.”

It isn’t an unreasonable request. Hongseok isn’t entitled to Changgu’s time, his energy, his love. He nods his head and tries to put on a look of understanding to ease Changgu’s obvious anxiety. “I can do that, Changgu,” he says. “For as long as you need.”

“Okay,” Changgu clips. He looks a little surprised, like he hadn’t been expecting Hongseok to go down without a fight. “I’ll see you when I see you, Hongseok,” he says, so quietly defeated that it breaks Hongseok’s heart. 

He shuts the door. The space between them becomes an infinite chasm in a split second’s time. Hongseok walks home, painfully alone, because there is nothing else to do now.

Hyojong is waiting for him at the door with a pack of PBR. They go to their favorite drinking spot, in the empty area of the kitchen where they would have a dining room table if they were actually functional adults. They sit down on the floor, pull the tabs back on their first round, and settle in to talk it all out.

“Not to hit you with the platitudes,” Hyojong says, on his third beer, “but it’s like they say. Love is a battlefield.”

“I think only Pat Benatar said that.” 

“We are young. Heartache to heartache... we stand. I’m gonna be sick. PBR makes me ill. But it’s your disgusting favorite. So I’ll keep drinking.” 

“We should get married.”

“That’s still the plan isn’t it? When we’re ugly olds in our thirties and no one wants us anymore.”

“What if you’re married to Hwitaek?”

“Literally? He’s going to have to fucking deal.” 

Hongseok laughs, almost nervously, too cautious to feel something other than bullshit heartbreak. He still has his one constant in this world in the form of Hyojong sitting with him on the floor of their kitchen, drinking cheap beer, and happily proclaiming that their destinies are forever entwined regardless of Hyojong’s romantic endeavors.

“Did you hear me, Hongseok?”

“Hmm?” Hongseok shakes his head, focusing back in on their conversation.

“I said that everything is going to be alright. Just like Ariana said. Maybe not tomorrow or even next week. But it will be.”

Of course. Days soon pass, and weeks soon pass, and the less important details begin fading with time. Leaving nothing but the memories of the look on Changgu’s face when Hongseok would surprise him at work with lunch, or the moments of comfortable silence after waking up together in the morning on those days where they had nowhere to be besides with each other, or a body meeting a body on a humid summer’s night when they actually did have somewhere to be.

With his mind clearing more and more every day, Hongseok is able to unearth the love out of the emotional rubble leftover in the aftermath. The feelings they should have discussed but were too scared to even consider touching. There’s nothing much he can do with it now besides hold on tight, bide his time, wait for Changgu to come around so they can go back to the beginning. They can start over, they can do things right this time.

And with each passing day, Hongseok keeps his promise to wait for as long as Changgu needs.

 

 

 

 

After three months of radio silence, Hongseok has accepted that “for as long as you need” is an indefinite forever. There were a few times that he opened their messages and saw three dots at the bottom that would disappear after a few seconds. They have not spoken since their last conversation at Changgu’s apartment.

And Hyojong has had enough of the moping and whining, so he is dragging Hongseok out of the house tonight whether he likes it or not.

“This is just an endless cycle,” Hongseok says. “I finally reach a point of relative stability and you make me go to Hyuna’s house, which exists on an alternate plane of reality where no one has any impulse control or common sense.”

“No, Hongseok, that’s not what’s going to happen. Part of being a grown-up is learning to curb your own dumbass behavior and reigning yourself in even when external influences are—”

“Are you sincerely pretending like there is anything deeper than this beyond you wanting me to go with you to a party tonight,” Hongseok says.

“ _I just want you to be happy_!” Hyojong wails.

“Holy fucking shit,” Hongseok says. There’s no point in even arguing, they’re already in Hyojong’s car. Halfway there, as a matter of fact. “Changgu is going to be there, isn’t he?”

“I actually don’t know. He’s been off the grid for a while. All of his friends hate you for ruining him.”

Hongseok laughs, unhinged. “Oh?!”

“I’m kind of exaggerating, but they did have a lot to say.”

Hongseok sinks down in the passenger seat and crosses his arms. “It’s not even a big deal. Relationships fade out with no closure all the time. I don’t even care anymore.”

The narrator of the embarrassing movie about Hongseok’s life would now be stating that he does, in fact, care quite a bit.

“Mmmhmm. Yeah,” Hyojong says.

“Can you stop acting like you know everything just because it’s been three months since Hwitaek decided to stop ghosting you over his nonexistent career?” Hongseok asks, just to be a brat.

“Oh, but I do know everything. You have no idea the level of enlightenment I have reached.”

“Because you’re getting fucked on the regular again you suddenly think you’re the Dalai goddamn Lama? I hate you.”

“Yeah, beats being Emperor Jerkoff like _someone_ in this car.”

“I _hate_ you!”

Hyuna’s house looms in the distance and Hongseok’s stomach sinks as an immediate result. No drinking, no socializing, all of this is going to make for a great night. Hyojong parks in some random person’s driveway like the ill-mannered heathen he is while Hongseok braces himself to enter the fray. Everyone seems happy to see him, going through the same old shit about thinking Hongseok was dead and missing him so much.

They also say shit like, _I heard about what happened_ and _I’m soooo sorry, you must feel awful_ , as if Hongseok is legitimately grieving over this. He has no idea what to say, so he just makes it a habit to walk away from anyone who approaches him without saying a damn word.

After a literal eternity of the most emotionally exhausting socialization Hongseok has ever been forced to endure, he makes his way upstairs. Hyuna always keeps a scrunchie on her door knob to give off the illusion that the room is occupied, but Hongseok knows better. She does this largely because she hates the idea of strangers being in her room, but also to keep her room free as a quiet space for meditation among the high octane nightmare downstairs. Hongseok knocks just to be safe, there’s no response, and he lets himself in.

It’s dark and the bedroom window is cracked just a bit, making the room a little too chilly for Hongseok’s liking. He sits down at the foot of the bed without turning the light on and assesses the situation. There are people downstairs who keep looking at him funny, out of pity, which Hongseok hates. Changgu is more than likely sulking around outside, avoiding Hongseok just as hard as Hongseok is secretly praying for some amazing not-quite-chance encounter. One where everything works out in the end, against all odds, that kind of written in the stars shit Hyojong is always talking about. Like in the movies, only better. Much, much better. 

And that’s why everyone pities you, Hongseok. Because you are, by definition, fucking pitiful. 

The door knob turns, a bit hesitantly.

“Occupied,” Hongseok says, annoyed. 

The door opens anyway. He’s just a silhouette standing in the doorway, but Hongseok knows.

“Hyuna told me you would be in here.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Changgu flips the light on. And Hongseok stares. He looks just as beautiful in miserable sobriety as he had in the haze of drunkenness all those months ago. Hongseok makes room for him to sit on the foot of the bed. Too many thoughts attempt to cross the wires in his mind. Say you’re sorry. Tell him you hate him. Kiss him. On the cheek. On the lips. On the neck. You’re pathetic. And you’re shameless. And disgusting. And he is so beautiful. 

They don’t face each other. Their thighs press together and Hongseok can feel the light movement of Changgu’s fingers ghosting over his own. Other hand busy holding a red solo cup. Hongseok wants to laugh and cry at the same time. This was easier when he was shitfaced, torn up and bleeding on the pavement outside. 

Rather than put an end to this miserable stalemate of who can go the longest without speaking, Changgu takes a sip from the cup. 

“What are you drinking?” Hongseok asks.

“It’s water. To get everyone off my back about not drinking.”

Hongseok’s throat tightens around what he wants to say next. His stomach twists into knot after knot.

“I... think I love you.” 

He turns to face Changgu and is met with eyes wide with what? Shock? Fear? Hopelessness? He can’t place it. But the air between them softens just a bit, opening to the possibility of everything still unsaid between them.

Changgu grabs his hand. And they sit in a hungry silence for what feels like a lifetime or a thousand. Together, alone. 

Together. 

“I think... I love you, too.” 


End file.
